


Fragments

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gil Arroyo Whump, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Bright Whump, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, also, not in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: A victim bearing uncanny similarities to Jackie leaves both Gil and Malcolm spiraling.xWhumptober2020 Days 18,19,20Panic Attacks | Grief + Mourning Loved One | (alt) Stitches
Relationships: (Past) Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the sex --> death and angst whiplash but also no I'm not 😌

“Gil…”

“Ssh…” 

“ _Ah,_ fuck... _shit..._ ”

Gil’s chuckle is low, as quiet as Malcolm’s failing to be, his warm breath ghosting over where’s still wet from his mouth, and Malcolm grabs at the arm of the couch, fingers digging in.

“Please, please, please... _Gil_ …”

Gil’s hand wraps around the base of his cock. “Are you going to be quiet?” 

“T-trying...so close…”

“Mmm. Because they may have brushed off last week's scream...but I don’t think they’re going to let another slide.” He leans forward, sucking Malcolm’s tip into his mouth, and Malcolm’s reply is forgotten as his head falls back.

“Oh my _God_ …”

“Yeah, baby?” Gil hums around him. “Good? You’re ready to come?”

“ _Yes..._ Gil, please...please let me…too much teasing…”

Gil laughs again, so clearly pleased with himself for what Malcolm could _probably_ consider _torture_. “I _suppose..._ but you’re going to have to cover your mouth.”

Malcolm is _instant_ in his obedience. He claps one hand over his mouth, whimpering as Gil licks up the side before taking him down again. He swears, pressing harder, his hips bucking up, and Gil grasps onto his sides, keeping them in place as he swallows around him. 

Malcolm’s other hand scrabbles at the couch, then fists in Gil’s hair, and then finally joins the other on his face to stifle the shout he can't hold back as he comes. Gil keeps going, keeps sucking and tonguing until Malcolm’s squirming and whimpering against his palm and about to remove them to beg before finally, _finally_ pulling off. Malcolm sags against the couch, gasping as his arms slide down limp to his sides, and Gil kisses his belly, tucking Malcolm back into his pants.

“Did so _good_ for me,” Gil praises, and Malcolm moans softly. Gil sits beside him, resting a hand on his heaving chest, and kisses him back to coherence. 

Malcolm sighs happily, and when he's got control over his limbs again he tucks one hand between Gil's legs.

“Let me?” he asks, rubbing Gil through his pants, and Gil’s head lolls to the side as he bites his lip.

“You’ve been in here a while.”

“We’re...spring cleaning,” Malcolm says, leaning to kiss Gil’s exposed neck, nipping gently below his chin.

“Mmm...think we’re a few months early for that…”

“Stop caring about them and pay attention to _me,_ ” Malcolm whines, and Gil grins, turning to kiss him and placing his hand over Malcolm's. 

“What do you want, baby?”

“God, Gil... _you_...wanna use my mouth. Please.”

“ _Insatiable_ , _”_ Gil hums as Malcolm massages gently, and he nods his permission. “Show me how much you want it, Bright.”

“Fuck…” Malcolm's mouth is already watering as he starts to undo Gil's zipper, and he’s just pulled Gil out of his boxers and leaned over when there's knocking on the door. 

“Son of a bitch,” Malcolm says, as quiet as he can, and Gil smirks at him as he calls out, "Yes?"

"We got a body, boss."

Malcolm perks up again immediately, climbing up off the couch, and very nearly forgets to give Gil a moment to put himself back together before jerking open the door. “Body?”

“Oh,” JT says, looking him over. “Was wondering where you were.” 

Malcolm’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”

“No, Bright. No, I knew where you were.” He peers in, looking at Gil. “Morning.”

Gil runs a hand through his hair, giving JT a look, and Dani is holding back laughter in the hall.

“I’ll text you the address, yeah? Give you a minute to…” And JT's eyes go back to Malcolm, down to his waistline. “Tuck your shirts back in, maybe.”

Malcolm’s hand clenches around the doorknob. Dani snorts behind him, walking away to hide it.

"Oh," Malcolm says, as JT shakes his head and follows her. "Y-yeah. Thanks. Uh—meet you there, then!"

He shuts the door and clears his throat, and notices Gil is staring at him. "What? I didn't know he'd look at my shirt…”

Gil tsks. He gestures Malcolm forward with a finger, and when Malcolm gets close enough he pulls him down by his tie to kiss him.

“You’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and laughs when Malcolm gets redder. “Come on. Got places to be.”

Malcolm walks two fingers up to Gil’s collarbone, and swears he feels Gil shudder. “Later, then?”

“I’ll give you that and more,” Gil purrs, pecking him once more before finally pushing himself up with a grunt, and Malcolm smiles, satisfied with that.

Gil always makes good on his promises.

**x**

The others stopped for coffee. It’s the only reason Gil and Malcolm get there before them.

And as excited as Malcolm always is, as much as he loves getting the first peak at a scene, he wishes, just this once, that he hadn’t. He wishes that Dani and JT had been there to try and stop them, warn them at _all._

He slips his way up the stairs, into the house, and freezes.

He wishes he hadn’t done that, too, because for the moment that his voice doesn’t work, that he doesn’t think to turn around, to do _anything,_ Gil comes in to stand beside him.

And the woman that lays on the floor, in a pool of her own blood, black hair curled around her head, looks remarkably, _horrifically_ similar to Jackie. 

Gil’s gasp catches in his throat. The tightness in Malcolm’s chest doesn’t allow him to take a breath at all.

A terrible, silent few beats pass. Malcolm finally breathes again, shakily, reaches for Gil’s hand—

And Gil flinches. He pulls away, doesn’t even _look_ at Malcolm. Instead, as if in a trance, he goes forward, closer.

Malcolm realizes he has to go closer, too.

God, she looks so much like her.

Dead. Both dead. They’re dead.

Jackie is dead. Gone. _Forever._

His hand trembles, and he pushes it into his pocket. Gil leans over her, giving a little shake of his head, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Gil…” Malcolm says at last. “Maybe…”

“Oh, shit.” Dani’s voice comes from behind him. “Gil—"

Gil holds his hand up. Malcolm can see his fingers shaking. 

“Stop,” Gil says, so quietly, and they do. Dani's hand settles against Malcolm's arm, a gentle offering of comfort, but neither of them look away from Gil, waiting for him.

When Gil finally lowers his hand, it's to absently touch at the finger where his wedding ring used to be. Malcolm feels, vaguely, like he's going to be sick.

Gil takes a breath, clears his throat, and forces his arms down to his sides again. 

"What've we got?" he asks. "Where's Edrisa?"

"Here!" She comes through an archway, dressed in her protective gear. She smiles at him, maybe doesn't notice his expression—and Malcolm can't blame her, because Gil's good at hiding it all—and goes into details about the body. 

About how she died. About how someone shot her through the head from point blank range.

Even when Malcolm can move again, roaming around the room and the body, piecing together what he can, Gil stays rigid and still. He refuses to look down at the woman at all, anymore. 

"Bright," Gil finally says, without looking at him, either. "Thoughts?" 

"Uh—" Malcolm nods, and cycles through a few of them. There'd been little struggle, likely someone the woman knew. There's a frame Malcolm notices is missing from the wall, the lack of blood spatter unlike everywhere around it indicating it was taken after death, and though the techs search around they can't seem to find it. Malcolm knows that it's important. 

But not as important as Gil. Nothing ever could be. And Malcolm starts to pay more attention to Gil than the scene, because he notices that, suddenly, Gil seems to have forgotten how to breathe. He's inhaling too quick, too shallow, and blowing them out in incomplete huffs.

Malcolm has had enough panic attacks to know what the start of one looks like.

The last time Gil had sounded like this, Jackie had just passed. He'd begged Malcolm to sleep at his house for the first nights after, because he couldn't bear being alone. Malcolm would hear him sobbing through the walls, and he'd slide his way into the other room and crawl up under the covers of his bed with him. He'd let Gil wrap his limbs around him, hold him as tight as he needed to, to cry and gasp and wheeze against Malcolm's chest until he finally exhausted himself and fell asleep. 

He sounds like that again. He sounds like he's about to start to cry. And Gil has never cried in front of his team. 

He fists Gil's sleeve and tugs. "Outside?" 

Gil shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, probably to protest, and then instead chokes for air, tugging on his collar. 

Malcolm doesn't let him argue, doesn't give him time to try again. Instead he pushes Gil with a hand in the small of his back until he moves.

“I’m fine,” Gil says, “stop.”

Malcolm doesn’t, because he knows Gil far too well for him to pretend. He leads Gil out the back door, closes it behind them, and helps him sit down on the steps there.

"Head between your legs," he says, and Gil bends over, only instead of breathing he's just sick, barely moving his feet in time to spare his shoes. Malcolm winces, rubbing his back, and finally Gil takes in a gasp and coughs it out.

" _Bright_ ," he wheezes, "I'm not—I can't—"

"What can I do?" 

“ _I don't know._ ”

Malcolm isn’t used to being on the caregiving side of this. He tries his hardest to remember everything Gil tells him when he has his own, but his memory almost always lapses throughout the attacks, leaving him sometimes not remembering he had one at all, later. 

What fucking good is he? Using up Gil’s good will, his comfort, and the one time Gil needs _him_...

“It wasn’t her,” he murmurs, wrapping both arms around one of Gil’s, kissing his shoulder—and then Gil suddenly pulls away and gets to his feet. Malcolm claps a hand down on the concrete to steady himself, startled as he looks up, but Gil doesn’t even glance back at him.

"Sorry, I—I don't know," Gil says, a hand against his chest, "I don't…" 

"Let me—"

Before Malcolm can finish, Gil just...goes. He walks away, rounding the corner of the house. Malcolm hesitates, wondering if he should follow, and then turns as the door opens again. Dani offers him a sympathetic little quirk of her lips, and he leans heavily against the railing beside him.

“He okay?” 

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He tucks his hand away again, lowering his head. “Looks so much like her..."

“Are _you_ okay?” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he is. Playing back in his head are memories of Jackie wasting away in her hospital bed, of the smile she’d nearly been too weak to give him the last time he’d seen her alive, of Gil curled into her side and crying against her long after she was gone. 

He wants to remember before that. He wants to remember something good. But that’s never been how his mind works. Instead it gives him images that make his throat burn, that make him want to run away, too. 

But he can’t. They have a case. He has to be okay, for Gil’s sake. 

So he forces a smile, and nods, and says, “‘Course I am,” as he moves past her, back inside.

It’s not until sometime later, when he’s gotten everything he can from the scene, that he walks outside to find Gil’s car gone.

“We got you,” JT says, gently bumping shoulders with him as he passes, a rare show of affection. “Probably just needed to take a drive.”

Malcolm frowns, pulling out his phone, but there’s no message. It’s not at all like Gil to leave him, even less like him not to let Malcolm know first. 

He shouldn’t be hurt. He knows Gil just needs some time to himself. It’s _selfish_ of him to feel bad. Jackie was his family, but not his wife. 

Though Gil feels like his soulmate, the one and only he’s ever meant to be with, he knows he was never Gil’s. And he worries, more now than ever, that he can never be for Gil what Jackie was. 

He worries that Gil could never love him that deeply. That he’s just a half-assed replacement for the happiness Gil once had and never will again.

He shakes himself. This self-doubt is nothing new, not since the first time he and Gil kissed, and right now, there are things to do. So he forces a smile, and follows JT and Dani to their car, and does what he’s always done best.

He throws himself into his work, and he forgets.

**x**

On the surface, Gil seems...okay. He walks into the conference room after the three of them had already accepted they’d be doing most of this on their own, with a mug of coffee and a weird little smile on his face, not the same warm, comforting one that Malcolm’s used to seeing but a smile all the same.

He doesn’t mention leaving, so neither does Malcolm. He doesn’t mention Jackie, so neither does Malcolm. Instead, Malcolm gives his profile while standing still in front of the case board, blocking the pictures of the woman’s body from Gil’s view as long as he can.

Gil acts like he can see right through him, anyway. And Malcolm feels a little more useless.

JT runs names. Dani and Malcolm end up at the woman’s ex-boyfriend’s house, and while he cooperates, it’s tense.

It gets a little more so when Malcolm excuses himself to the bathroom and then impatiently noses around, finding a box of things that holds a frame matching the one taken from the woman’s home, a picture of the two of them together. Though it's been wiped clean, he's sure they'll find traces of blood on it.

The man had wanted to keep the memory. A crime of passion, believing her to have wronged him, but still loving her all the same. His profile, word for word.

There’s an unsettling click behind him. He sets his jaw, and says, “Sorry...I got lost.”

Dani is quick. She’s got her own gun out and pointed at the man before Malcolm has even turned around.

“Drop it! Now!”

“You don’t understand…”

“I do,” Malcolm says. “She hurt you. She broke your heart, didn’t she? She found someone else…”

“ _No…_ ”

“No. You're right. It was more than that. She broke your trust. Betrayed you, everything you knew, didn't she? I know how that feels…”

The hand around the gun shakes. Dani adjusts the grip around her own, gritting her teeth. 

“You don’t know shit!”

Malcolm shrugs, makes a gesture with his hand that looks like it’s leading into speaking again, and then instead he slams the frame up and into the barrel of the gun. It goes off, burying somewhere in the wall behind Malcolm, and Dani tackles the man to the ground.

Shakily, ears aching from the sound of it firing so close to him, Malcolm breathes. Once she has him cuffed, Dani looks up and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he still has to hide his hand again. 

He looks down at the man, sobbing as he stares at the photo resting in fragments of broken glass and memories, and then removes himself.

He breathes again, and again. It feels like he can’t, but he definitely can, because the bullet missed and he’s alive and he can’t be the one in need when he has to go back and be there for Gil.

Only when they come back, JT tells them that, once hearing that the case was solved, Gil’s already gone home. Only when Malcolm calls again, and again, and _again,_ Gil doesn’t answer, and a fourth call to voicemail is what finally brings him to tears that he can’t hold back.

He walks home, taking the time to gather himself, and then makes tea, settles on the couch, and waits for a call. 

Gil loves him. He’ll call. 

Gil _loves_ him. He _has_ to call. He just needs some time. Just a little bit of time. It’s okay. Gil’s always happy to give Malcolm time when he needs it. 

But Malcolm always tells him. He doesn’t just... _go._ He doesn’t, because he knows Gil would worry, and he doesn’t want Gil to worry about him. He loves Gil too much to cause him pain when he can avoid it.

“Maybe he’s dead,” his father less-than-helpfully suggests from the corner, and Malcolm throws a shoe at him. It bounces off the wall, and Sunshine chirps.

“I think your aim is off, my boy.”

“Fuck!” Malcolm shouts, and then covers his face. He’d been trying to push down the anxiety but now, as the sun sets, it’s becoming overwhelming.

“You were never anything more than a shoddy little stand-in for _her,_ Malcolm. But you knew that.”

“He loves me.”

“He probably thinks of her when you’re—”

“ _Leave me alone._ ”

“Oh, but I would _never_ be like Gil…”

"He'll call."

"Of course will. That is...unless he's dead."

Malcolm growls, but he can't handle staying put anymore. He texts Gil that he’s coming, but by the time the taxi drops him off he still hasn’t gotten a response, and he has so much panic building in him that he feels like he’s going to be sick. He knocks a few times, and then fishes his key out, jams it into the lock, and pushes it open.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but his heart starts to pound even harder when he finds the place looking as if it’s been ransacked. Things are upturned, the liquor cabinet is wide open, there’s broken glass crunching under his shoes that he can't find the source of, and—

" _Gil."_

His lover is sitting in the kitchen, legs stretched out, his head lowered. Malcolm, for one terrible moment, can't even see his chest moving.

Then it rises, just enough. Falls again. He's alive.

Malcolm drops to his knees beside him, grasping at his arm. "Gil!" 

Gil groans, barely audible. He stinks of alcohol, the same way Malcolm's mother always had on some of the worst nights of his childhood, and he regrets ever leaving Gil to be alone in the first place. He should have come sooner...he should have _known..._ he isn’t the only one with a tendency to be self-destructive.

He cups Gil's cheeks, pulling his head up. "Gil. _Gil._ Hey!"

Gil's eyes crack open, then shut again. He mumbles something under his breath, and leans over towards him.

"Oh, Gil…" Malcolm whispers. "Gil, you need to wake up. Open your eyes, _please._ You're just drunk, right? You didn't take anything, _right?_ "

Gil mutters again. Malcolm swears, feeling for his phone, because he's not about to take any chances, and Gil drags his other arm up to wipe at his nose.

That's when Malcolm sees the blood. 

It's soaking the rag wrapped tight around Gil's hand. Malcolm catches it as it falls away from his face, and he's thoroughly terrified. It seems to be his palm, not his wrist, but that doesn't mean he didn't do it to himself. Malcolm calls an ambulance, pleading them to be quick, and then sits beside Gil and wraps his arms around him.

"Help is coming," he tells him, pulling Gil to rest his face against his neck. "Just stay with me, okay? God, Gil…I love you...I love you…"

"I miss you," he finally says, so slurred Malcolm nearly can't understand, having to replay the sounds back in his head until they click as words. "Jackie."

Malcolm realizes, his heart sinking, that Gil doesn't even know it's him.

He realizes, even slower, that Gil’s wearing his wedding ring again. That the glass on the floor must be from the shadow box he’d placed both rings in when he and Malcolm had entered a relationship. 

"Miss you so _much,"_ Gil says, and then starts to cry. He kisses at Malcolm's neck, and whimpers, _"Jackie…_ "

Malcolm doesn't know what to do. His chest hurts.

"Come back…" Gil sobs. "Please…"

Gil wants Jackie. He’s always wanted Jackie, but she was taken from him. All he's left with is Malcolm.

Being so unlucky, maybe he's right to be crying after all.

**x**

The hospital keeps him the night for observation. No medication in his system, just far, _far_ too much whiskey. He'd sliced his palm, at an awkward angle they say looks like he'd fallen on it rather than self-harmed, but it’s nothing life-threatening. 

He's still not coherent, while they're working, and he sounds so uncharacteristically small as he sniffles and grunts his way through them picking out fragments of glass and stitching it up. Five times, he flinches. On the sixth and final threading, he whimpers, sounding as broken as the pieces spread back on his living room floor. They hook him up to a saline drip, give him some medications for nausea and antibiotics to prevent an infection, and cart him from the ER to a room upstairs.

He sleeps through the night, after that, never once waking. He groans a few times, caught up in a dream or a memory he doesn't want, and Malcolm squeezes his uninjured hand, rubs his arm and pets through his hair, until he's silent again. 

Malcolm stays in a chair by the bed until morning. He wants to crawl into the bed with him, but it feels...wrong, almost. He's not sure _Gil_ wants that. 

He's not sure Gil wants _him_ , either. 

It’s understandable, really. 

But he loves Gil so, _so_ much. Maybe more than Gil’s ever loved him back. If he doesn’t say anything...if he pretends he’s not hurt...maybe Gil won’t bring it up, either. Maybe they can just...go back to how things were.

But there’s still the wedding ring that Gil, on his own, decided not to wear anymore on his finger. There’s still stitches in his hand, and twenty or more missed notifications on his phone. 

Malcolm had still thought, until the ambulance came, that Gil might die. Had to listen to him cry for her, until they pulled him up onto a stretcher and loaded him into the back.

He closes his eyes, and he keeps waiting. Really, there’s nothing else he can do.

Eventually, Gil moans softly. Malcolm looks up, and Gil’s staring blankly up at the ceiling.

He wonders, for a terrible second, if Gil doesn’t even want to _look_ at him anymore.

And then Gil turns his head, and flinches as the sight of him. He squeezes Malcolm’s hand, and reaches up to rub at his eyes, and looks at him with such confusion that Malcolm realizes he’d thought he was alone.

“Bright,” he rasps. “What’re you...what’s…?"

“You don’t remember?” Malcolm asks, and Gil’s gaze is caught by the glint of metal around his finger. 

“Hell,” he says, and then lowers his hand and looks around. “I’m...in the hospital. I don’t...no. Oh, shit. I remember…oh, no.”

He turns onto his side. Malcolm can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, and instead awkwardly looks down at his shoes, gnawing at his lip.

“Malcolm…Malcolm, I’m so sorry—” He reaches out, and against his better judgement Malcolm leans away. Gil jerks his hand back, and stares down at the bandaging around it. “ _Bright..._ what did I do?”

“I think you...must have cut it, getting the ring. It was broken all over the floor.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m not...physically hurt,” he says, quietly.

Gil doesn’t relax, and he isn’t fooled. “...But?”

Malcolm is embarrassed to find tears burning his eyes. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it _doesn’t matter..._ he should shut up, why can't he ever just shut up? He tries, holding his breath, but the words build with the pressure until he's finally choking out, “You called me Jackie.”

Gil inhales sharply. He _quite_ clearly doesn't recall that, and that means he hadn't _meant_ to, but what if...what if his father is right, and Gil has secretly been thinking of Jackie all along?

“ _Bright..._ oh, Bright…”  
  


  
“You—you—” He pants, trying to word himself right, and then he’s crying, and he doesn’t have a chance to stop everything from pouring out senselessly between sobs. “Do you—am I—I can’t—do you love me? Do you— _love_ me? Because I don’t—I don’t—I know I can’t replace her, I _know,_ but—I—I love you so much, Gil...I love you so much! I’m sorry—that I’m not her, I don’t—I don’t know what to do to m-make you love me like that, I don’t know if you even _can,_ I—”

“ _Malcolm._ ” It’s barely a whisper but it still silences Malcolm, and he squeezes his eyes shut, gripping tight to the arms of the chair. “I’m so sor—”

“No, no, Gil, I’m... _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Malcolm, please. _Please_ let me talk.”

Malcolm nods, and goes quiet, trying to get himself back under control while Gil struggles for a moment before managing to sit up. 

“Bright...I’m so, _so_ sorry.” 

Malcolm covers his mouth, and nods again, and then still loses himself to more tears. Gil reaches out, taking his hand, and says, “Please...please come here...please, Bright…”

“Do you want me to?” Malcolm whimpers, and Gil tugs him forward until he’d have to try to resist if he wanted to stop himself from standing, and he doesn’t want to. He hurts too much. Even if Gil can't love him as much, he can still love him _some,_ and Malcolm is so worthless that he should be grateful he's getting any at all. He stands at the bedside, and Gil tugs again, and wordlessly Malcolm slumps down to lay beside him, one leg thrown over his.

“Oh, kid…” Gil murmurs, kissing over his face. “No, no, no. I want you. I want you, Malcolm. I love you with all my heart! Oh, God, I’m so sorry you ever thought I didn’t, even for a second. Oh, what’ve I done to you?”

“I’m s-sorry…”

Gil shakes his head, cooing to him gently until, slowly, he starts to calm down, until he’s limp and exhausted and curled as close as he can get, head tucked under Gil’s chin. 

“I should never have left you at the scene,” Gil murmurs, stroking his fingers through Malcolm’s hair, “or gone home with my phone off. I should never have done that to you. I wouldn’t want you to do that to me. I was...so sad, Malcolm. I barely remember anything from yesterday at all, after I saw her. I don’t. It was like…” He pauses, frowning, and then tries again. “You know...when sometimes you say you don’t feel real? Or...maybe nothing else does? I don’t know. It was like that.”

“Dissociation,” Malcolm mumbles against his neck. “My old friend.”

“You need better friends,” Gil says, and Malcolm weakly laughs. “But that’s not an excuse. I’m not—I should have done better, Bright, because that’s not how you should ever be treated. That's not what you deserve. I’m so sorry."

Malcolm smiles a little, squeezing his hand. “I love you, Gil.”

“I love you, too. God, Malcolm, I love you so much.” He pulls Malcolm against his chest, and sighs into his hair. "I promise. I promise I'll do better, I swear to you." And when Malcolm doesn't say anything, because he's just not sure what he _can_ say, Gil tells him, “She knew.”

Malcolm frowns. He tilts his head up, and asks, “Knew what?”

“About you. About just how much I loved you, long before I ever admitted it. She knew. She…” He shakes his head, smiling, just a little, and rubs at his ring. “She _teased_ me about it. Told me I should invite you over, tell you over dinner. _Wanted_ me to. She wanted me to be happy, to be able to love you like she knew I wanted to. Malcolm...kid, you aren’t a replacement for her. You never were."

Malcolm is dumbfounded. Gil had told him about how long he’d had feelings, but not _that._ Not that Jackie, of all people, had known, had _encouraged_ it, even.

“I should have told you that, now that we’ve been together. I was...embarrassed, maybe.”

“ _Embarrassed?_ ” Malcolm echoes, reaching up to touch Gil’s cheek. “Gil…”

Gil wets his lip, eyes shining with tears again. “And it hurts. To say her name. To talk about her. I don't...remember putting this on, but it doesn't mean I would _trade_ you for her. It doesn't mean I'm unhappy with you, Malcolm. I miss her...I never won't. I know you do, too. And I think the way I don't talk about her hurts you, too. I don't want to hurt you, kid. Not ever. I wasted years we could have been together pretending you didn't make me whole, but you did. You still do. You always will. And if she were still here, I'd love you both."

Them _both?_ Malcolm had never even _considered…_ “ _Gil…_ ”

“I’m so sorry you ever—” Gil starts, and Malcolm doesn’t know what else to do but kiss him quiet. Gil melts against him, humming, holding him closer.

“I love you so _much,_ Gil,” Malcolm says, and then kisses him again, and giggles softly against his lips. “You love me. You’ve loved me.”

“I always will,” Gil says. “I promise you. _Always_.” 

And Malcolm cries again, but he doesn’t think he’s ever, ever been happier. 

**x**

Though it’s somewhere Gil tends to go alone, and somewhere Malcolm tends to avoid, some days later they find themselves standing above her headstone, holding hands in silence. Eventually, Gil gives him a little smile, and Malcolm crouches down, placing the bouquet of flowers they both picked out together amidst the dandelions and then gently stroking a finger over the ground.

“Sorry I don’t...come much,” he says, and though he looks up at Gil he’s addressing them both. "Hurts me, too. More than I say."

Gil lets out an exhausted sounding sigh as he sits down, pulling Malcolm to rest against his chest. “I know, kid. I should have been doing more. Asking if you wanted to talk."

"It hurts you."

"Yeah..." He sighs, scratching at his beard, and rests his chin atop Malcolm's head. "But it would probably hurt a little less with you."

"Gabrielle says talking things out is key to recovery."

"Mmm. Maybe I should go back to mine. Thought I was getting better, not worse."

"She also says relapsing isn't a sign of failure, but of progress to be made."

"Oh yeah? What else does she say?"

Malcolm purses his lips. "That I'm going to be the reason she goes bankrupt, because I keep making her buy more lollipops."

Gil throws his head back and laughs, squeezing him. Malcolm is overcome with sadness, suddenly, remembering that Jackie's favorite flavor of them was strawberry. He sniffs, and reaches up to wipe her nose, and finally murmurs, "I miss her, Gil."

"I know. God, she loved the hell out of you. Don't you ever forget that.” 

A bee lands in the bouquet, and Malcolm watches it crawl inside one of the blooms. “I loved her, too.”

“She knew,” Gil murmurs, kissing the top of his head, wrapping his arms around him and rocking them both, just a bit. 

For a while, they stay silent, comfortable. 

And then Gil starts to laugh again. Malcolm is almost startled, leaning his head back to look at him. 

“What’s funny?”

“I’m remembering our trip to the—” 

“Oh, my God,” Malcolm mumbles, turning to hide his face in Gil’s shoulder. “ _No._ ”

“Oh, yes...oh, I’d forgotten…”

“Please forget again. Ainsley’s never let me live it down.”

“She still talks about it, too? Oh, _kid—_ ” He breaks off into laughter again, prodding Malcolm’s side until it tickles enough he has to giggle too, squirming. 

“Stop it! It’s not funny!”

“Oh yeah? Because I remember it being _hilarious._ I don’t think Jackie ever stopped bringing it—”

He stops. It’s rare, if ever, that her name slips out. Malcolm takes Gil’s hand, squeezing it gently. 

“Okay?” he asks, and Gil nods, resting his face against Malcolm’s hair again. 

“Yeah. It didn’t hurt so bad that time.”

"Maybe because you were making fun of me..."

"Then I should continue. In fact, maybe we should talk about just _how_ funny it was…”

Malcolm clicks his tongue, but Gil tells him a story he already knows and pokes at his ribs and sides until they’re both on their backs and breathless from giggles. One memory becomes another, leading into all the good that Malcolm had forgotten he had access to, until Gil has tears in his eyes that are for once not from pain, the easiest talk about her that they’ve ever had and laughter they both needed to share. 

Malcolm truly hopes that, wherever she is, Jackie is laughing, too.

"She is," Gil tells him, when he dares to say it aloud, gently running his fingers up and down Malcolm's back, and Malcolm smiles. He closes his eyes, listening to Gil's heartbeat under his ear, and the bee buzzing behind him, and knowing, with a certainty he didn't have before, that both of them are going to be okay.


End file.
